


Desert Sands

by TsarinaTorment



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Broken Bones, Crash Landing, Dehydration, Family, Gen, Heat Stroke, Hurt Scott, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by The Uninvited, John has a reckless streak, Sahara Desert, Scott Whump, Virgil does not approve, but not an exact TAG rewrite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:49:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26000671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TsarinaTorment/pseuds/TsarinaTorment
Summary: On the way home from a rescue Thunderbird One and Scott disappear from Thunderbird Five's sensors, leaving International Rescue scrambling to both discover what happened and find them.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 30





	1. Prologue

All in all, it had been a successful mission. One of Scott's favourites, too; the ones he could do solo, with no requirement to put any of his brothers in harms' way. It was rare to not need the assistance of Thunderbird Two and her cargo – whatever it might be for that mission – but this had been one such simple, easy mission where a couple of drones and a single high-tensile cable had been enough to put the world to rights. No need for Virgil to get out of bed.

And if Scott was enjoying his flight home in blissful silence, John busy directing Alan's latest space junk collecting adventure closely with all available scanners working to full capacity to detect more stealth mines (so maybe they'd had a _bit_ of a scare that one time, although Alan never complained), well, that was his own business. Silence was hard to get in the Tracy family. Five brothers living in close quarters, even if one was usually only holographic, did not lend itself to extended periods of quiet, and that was before Grandma, Brains' experiments and MAX were added to the equation. Not to mention, of course, International Rescue itself.

So when his silence was rudely interrupted by, well, _actual_ silence and the juddering of a Thunderbird in freefall, Scott was not best pleased. He was also a little panicked, although that was a confession he'd take to the grave.

His grave was rushing up to meet him with alarming speed. Beneath his feet, the pale yellow sands of the Sahara were looming closer and closer as Thunderbird One was enslaved by gravity.

Panic was shoved aside to deal with later as instincts and training kicked in. There was no sign of anything that should have been able to stop the Thunderbird's engines mid-flight, but the hows and whys could be also dealt with later, alongside the panic, as Scott threw the entire system into a hard reset.

Nothing.

Panic came knocking again and Scott once more shoved it away viciously, judging by eye how much longer he had until collision if he couldn't get any of the engines working and gauging it to be not enough to risk leaving his pilot chair to get at the additional systems on board. A crash landing it was going to be, then.

Manual backups existed in all of the Thunderbirds, Brains' paranoia unable to let a single craft out for service unless it had multiple ways to protect its passengers. It was those that Scott switched to, flaps and rudders more suited to baby's first plane than the high tech Thunderbird, but a last resort as he shoved his helmet on his head and dragged at the controls to raise her nose.

If she landed nose-first, he'd never survive. Not at these speeds.

Wings extended agonisingly slowly, seeking to create more drag as he kicked the flaps into an airbrake. Gravity fought against him, determined to force the red nose of his 'bird into the ground, and if he had any thinking room to spare he'd have found a new appreciation for John's dislike of it. Pulling back with all his strength, and with his instruments all haywire, he watched the approaching ground rise towards him and prayed it would be enough.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thunderbirds Day! To celebrate - and also because I've been a terribly lazy author recently - I'll be catching up this story with my tumblr (I don't normally not post here when I post on tumblr but I've been lazy for the past month...) so watch out for a bunch of chapters coming out over the course of the day.

"John, contact has been lost with Thunderbird One."

EOS's words didn't register. Alan had just found another stealth mine amongst his junk and was taking a lovely little space walk over to a ticking bomb to deactivate it. Finding the kill code for this particular mine would at least be nothing like the first time – following 'proper procedures', International Rescue via Lady Penelope had got hold of the paperwork for every single stealth mine and it was a quick case of John scanning the database for the right one – but it wasn't something John wanted to be distracted from. Not while his youngest brother was sitting by a live bomb.

Needless to say, John was very careful to make sure he read out the correct numbers, and watched Alan's holographic figure for any indication that something was wrong, only relaxing once the young astronaut was back in Thunderbird Three and the mine registered as deactivated on both Thunderbirds' scanners.

"John."

"Sorry, EOS," he sighed, leaning back from the database and letting Zero-G cradle him. "Could you repeat that?"

"Contact has been lost with Thunderbird One."

" _What_?"

All relaxation in Zero-G was promptly forgotten as John yanked himself back upright and towards the large holographic model of Earth. The green, yellow and grey icons of Thunderbirds Two, Four and Shadow flashed up alongside the pointer labelled 'IR', indicating that they were still on Tracy Island, as they should be. Away in England, FAB1's pink icon stayed steady in London.

The blue icon of Thunderbird One was nowhere to be seen. John switched the display from Thunderbirds to operatives, and his heart sank when Scott's remained absent. Suit telemetry readings were offline, and attempts to call either Thunderbird One or Scott's communicator both ended in a red _no signal_ symbol that didn't belong anywhere near Thunderbird Five's powerful network.

"Alan, go home," he said, cutting through meaningless chatter from the teenager as he coasted along, picking up more random junk.

"John?"

"I need to concentrate on something else right now so I can't help you disarm the mines," he explained as he attempted to boost the signal, hoping that Alan would accept the excuse and call an end to his junk gathering.

"Is there a rescue?" Alan was a fantastic operative, but he was also a teenager.

"No," John told him. "At least I hope not," he muttered under his breath as his attempts to boost the signal failed and all connections to Thunderbird One or her pilot remained firmly offline.

"Then why?"

"Just… go home, Alan," he sighed. "Please."

Alan didn't respond, and John hoped that meant he was obeying. He couldn't check – doing that meant turning away from his Earth map, and right now Scott's position was more important.

"EOS, show me Thunderbird One's last known position, and the last data received from both Thunderbird One and Scott's telemetry."

Instantly a blue line appeared, tracking Thunderbird One from the danger zone in the Swiss Alps down across to the Sahara Desert, where it promptly vanished. Scott's telemetry told him nothing. His big brother had been relaxed, no sign of raised blood pressure or other indicators of stress. There was absolutely no cause for alarm, except for the fact that both flight suit and Thunderbird had cut off at the same time.

The airlock hissed unexpectedly, and John's head jerked to look over at it. Alan floated over to him, and a glance out of the gravity ring showed Thunderbird Three docked to her sister.

"What's wrong, John?" his brother asked, gracefully coming to a halt next to him and frowning at the data. "Is this Scott's flight path?" Big blue eyes filled with concern, and John really wished Alan had done as he was told. Being the reassuring big brother was _much_ easier via hologram. "Has something happened?"

"I don't know," John admitted. "EOS lost Thunderbird One's signal suddenly, and Scott's telemetry went offline at the same time."

"Could they have entered a dead spot?" Alan asked, peering at the data suspiciously. "Scott's suit data suggests he's fine."

John shook his head.

"Thunderbird Five doesn't _have_ dead spots, Alan," he reminded him. "I boosted the signal just in case, but there's still nothing."

"What about satellite footage?" John shook his head.

"We don't have visual on this part of the Sahara Desert. It's not populated enough to justify an IR satellite, and even the GDF don't look too closely at the middle of deserts."

"So what are we going to do? I can take Three-"

"The only place you're taking Three is back home," John interrupted firmly. "She isn't designed for sustained atmospheric flight and I am absolutely not sending you into the middle of the Sahara in her."

Alan deflated, and John sighed, wrapping an arm around his shoulders awkwardly for a moment.

"But what if something happened?" the blond asked, staring at the unhelpful map in front of them.

"We don't know that anything has," John pointed out. "But I'll get Kayo to check it out. Alan, you and EOS keep an eye out for any signs of Scott while I make the call."

"F.A.B." Alan didn't sound happy, but then again John wasn't happy, either. Thunderbirds and brothers weren't supposed to just _vanish_ from Thunderbird Five's sensors.

Ordinarily, if he just wanted Kayo, he'd catch her on her private channel and she'd slip away from his brothers, leaving them none the wiser. However, telling Kayo and not the rest of his family now would leave him with two very unhappy younger brothers when they found out, and neither Virgil nor Gordon were high on his list of people to offend. With a sigh, he reached for the link to the den.

Virgil was there, tickling ivories in a mish-mash fashion John recognised as his brother in a composing mood. Guilt at interrupting him during that had long since faded – disasters did not wait for Virgil's muse to finish what it was doing, just like they never waited for John to reach a convenient point in a book or piece of coding – but something unpleasant coiled in his stomach this time. Then again, this wasn't a normal interruption.

Kayo was curled up like a cat in her launch seat, flicking through a book, and it was her John focused on.

"We've got a situation," he said, skipping his usual pleasantries when he made contact for non-rescue conversation. Then again, this might _be_ a rescue.

Instantly the piano silenced, Virgil abandoning the instrument to approach the den.

"Do we need Gordon?" he asked, and John nodded. Before he could say anything else, Virgil was heading for the stairs, and John let him go. He needed Kayo first – Thunderbird Two couldn't do anything until they _located_ Scott, and hopefully wouldn't be needed at all.

"Give me the brief in the sky," his sister said, reaching to activate her launch chute.

"Wait," he interrupted. "It's not a rescue, I hope." Bright eyes narrowed, and he felt the force of her curiosity even through the hologram. "I've lost contact with Scott and Thunderbird One. Thunderbird Five can't pick up either of their signals."

"I'm on it," she said, sinking into the floor. "Send me his last known position and I'll track him down."

"There's a possibility that it's just a blip in the system and that nothing's wrong," he felt compelled to inform her, setting up a secondary relay to her wrist comm even as the flight data was sent straight to Thunderbird Shadow. "There's no sign anything was wrong until we lost his signal."

"I still don't like it," she said, and he heard the hum of the motorcycle indicating she was in her cockpit. "Thunderbird Shadow out."

He let her sign off, well aware that he needed to have a conversation with his brothers. That didn't mean he closed her transmission from his end, however. The moment she found something – it was Kayo, he trusted her to find _something_ – he wanted to know.

"Has Kayo gone on ahead?" John's attention returned to the den; Virgil had returned and was accompanied by a damp Gordon. There was no point dancing around.

"I've lost Scott," he said. "Kayo's going to his last known position now."

"What you mean, you've _lost Scott_?" Virgil asked. He was rigid, a mass of tense muscles that John knew meant fear, not anger.

"Exactly that," he admitted. "Scott and Thunderbird One's telemetries both vanished at the same time." He pulled them up, letting the same sight in front of Alan materialise from the table in the centre of the den. "Scott was over the Sahara Desert, not experiencing any issues, and then the signals disappeared."

"Satellite imagery?" Gordon asked, and he shook his head.

"It's a satellite blind spot. I don't have access to a detailed scan of the area."

"Why don't I take Thunderbird Three overhead to get one?" Alan butted in, and John turned his head to see his younger brother had floated over to join him. "If I fly low enough I'll be able to get a high res image."

"I thought I told you to keep an eye out for Scott reappearing," he scolded, and Alan shrugged.

"EOS is doing that. I have Thunderbird Three here, let me do something!" John sighed.

"I told you, the only place you're taking Thunderbird Three is _home_ ," he reminded him. "We don't know what happened and I'm not sending you into the area."

"You sent Kayo," Alan sulked.

"Thunderbird Shadow is better equipped for the situation," John pointed out. "At the altitude you'd need to fly at to get a high enough resolution, you'd be sub-orbital and Thunderbird Three isn't designed for sustained sub-orbital flight."

"What about Thunderbird Five?" Virgil asked, drawing his attention back to the holograms. "Can you position overhead to scan yourself?"

John shook his head, gritting his teeth.

"There's another space station in geostationary orbit between here and where I'd need to move to. Thunderbird Five doesn't have the manoeuvrability needed." He loved his Thunderbird, but when the pair of them were useless he cursed the limitations she had.

"Can't you boost Thunderbird Three's scanners so I wouldn't need to go sub-orbital?" Alan asked, like a dog with a bone at the idea of scanning overhead. If he wasn't already missing one brother with no explanation, John would probably have let him go, but as it was he was determined _not_ to send another brother into danger until he at least knew what the danger _was_.

"I could do that," EOS said, and John sent a tired glare at her nearest camera. It was the logical thing to do, of course. Scott had been out of contact for too long – at the speed he was travelling before the telemetry was lost, he should have been just about arriving home. Kayo was flying the exact course Scott was projected to have been taking, and if he'd been on that course she'd have called it in by now. The steady dark grey of both Thunderbird Shadow and Kayo's telemetry reassured him that she hadn't also gone inexplicably dark.

It was almost certain at this point that Scott had got into trouble. No satellite imagery had shown up the silver rocket, either, and there wasn't _much_ of the Earth that wasn't covered by high resolution imagery. Logic dictated that Thunderbird One had probably gone down, and with no working communications Scott wouldn't be able to call for help.

 _If he survived_ , the cool detached voice in the back of his head pointed out. _At the speed Thunderbird One was going, a crash would have been fatal_.

John ignored the voice.

"Stay in orbit," he said out loud, unable to find a reason why Alan shouldn't go with EOS helping him to scan.

"Thunderbird Two is launching as well," Virgil said, and the twin looks of brown eyes from the two earth-bound brothers told John there was no point even trying to dissuade them. "We'll rendezvous with Kayo and Thunderbird Shadow. Send me Scott's last known position."

John barely had to think to send the information to Thunderbird Two's computer, half of his attention on Alan slipping out of the airlock, a drive in his hands that no doubt contained EOS. No EOS meant he had to monitor everything by himself again, but John barely paid that a thought. Thunderbird Three disengaged from Five, and John manipulated the data so that he had her route overlaying the map of Earth.

Below the red icon, although quickly left behind as Alan tore through space, was the green icon of Thunderbird Two, just leaving Tracy Island. Thunderbird Four was left alone, no use for a submarine in the middle of a desert, and just approaching the south-east Sahara was Thunderbird Shadow.

And then Thunderbird Shadow was gone.


	3. Chapter 2

"Kayo?" he called, immediately trying both Thunderbird Shadow and her personal communicator. Both resulted in the red symbol of _no signal_ , just like Scott. "Thunderbird Two, I've just lost contact with Thunderbird Shadow."

"What?" Virgil and Gordon demanded, in tandem. "Where?"

"I'm sending you the co-ordinates now," he said, fingers flying across the data. Just like Scott, her suit telemetry showed no signs of increased stress or panic before going dark. "It's approximately five hundred miles south-east from Thunderbird One's last known position."

"Five hundred miles?" Virgil asked. "That's a big area. Are there any signals of anything between them?"

"No, but there's nowhere there that I'd expect to," John admitted. "It's an uninhabited part of the Sahara Desert."

"We'll follow Kayo's flight path and go cautiously once we cross the African coast," Virgil declared. "We'll let you know what we find."

"F.A.B.," John acknowledged, turning to Thunderbird Three. "Alan, do you copy?"

"Right here, John," his youngest brother answered immediately. "Over the Sahara now. EOS is beginning scans."

"Stay in orbit," he reminded. "I just lost contact with Thunderbird Shadow and Kayo in the exact same way."

"What's happening?" Alan asked. "That's not normal. They fly over the Sahara all the time!"

"I don't know but we're going to find out," John promised. "Let me know what EOS finds."

"Preliminary scans show nothing," the AI chipped in, hijacking Alan's signal. "I do not like this, John. There is no sign of movement at all- John, I believe I have located Thunderbird One."

"Where?" Thunderbird Five was linking up to her sister before John consciously thought about it, taking in the data streaming from Thunderbird Three's EOS-enhanced scanners. There was nothing but sand dunes, some impressively high. Wind whipped the sand around, lowering visibility. "EOS, I don't see her."

An additional scan appeared, overlaying the satellite imagery.

"Thunderbird Three is not powerful enough for a positive identification but I believe the metal buried beneath a thin layer of blown sand is the right approximate dimensions and construct to match with Thunderbird One," EOS informed him. The signal was weak, but now that EOS had pointed it out, John could just about make out what she meant.

"That's eighty miles from where we lost the signals," Alan piped up, and John could see on his face that he was doing the calculations in his head. He was doing the same ones, and reached a conclusion he wasn't sure if he liked it or not.

"From the speed and height Thunderbird One was travelling at, if her engines went offline she'd travel approximately eighty miles before crashing," he said, and Alan made a noise of agreement. "It's in the right direction, too."

"So what do we do now?" Alan asked.

"Keep scanning," John said. "I want the entire area logged, just to be safe. With Kayo and Thunderbird Shadow also missing, I don't want Thunderbird Two encountering any unwelcome surprises when they get there."

"But if that's Scott he's _buried_ , John!" Alan protested.

"And if it's not, we haven't found him at all," John pointed out. "Even if it is, we don't know what happened, and until we know that it's not safe for Thunderbird Two to approach." That was what concerned him the most. What was taking down Thunderbirds without any warning? If he didn't know that Virgil and Gordon would refuse, he'd have told his brothers to stop as soon as Thunderbird Shadow went down.

As it was he was anxiously watching the green icon, silently begging it not to disappear as it reached the African coastline.

"Virgil, you're coming up on where Thunderbird Shadow vanished," he warned them. "Be careful."

"Decelerating and reducing altitude," Virgil responded. John could see that, but appreciated his brother staying in contact. With Scott and Kayo both gone from his sensors, he _really_ didn't want to lose another brother, and with Gordon also on board, there were two brothers heading into almost certain danger. "Coming up on- Kayo!"

Thunderbird Two's green icon came to a rapid stop, banking around sharply before readouts declared the green ship had come into land.

"John, we've got eyes on Thunderbird Shadow," Gordon told him. He was using his personal comm, and his image was clearly running. "She's down but her cockpit's shut. Looks like Kayo's still inside."

"Kayo!" he heard Virgil call faintly, picked up by Gordon's communicator rather than using his own.

John could be patient when he wanted to; it was a trait he shared with Virgil. Another trait he shared with Virgil was a lack of that same patience when it came to family wellbeing. In no time at all, Thunderbird Two's external camera feed was being projected for him to watch.

At a glance, Thunderbird Shadow seemed okay. She was facing the wrong direction, back towards Tracy Island, but there was little visible damage on the fuselage. More concerning was the fact that both the Thunderbird and Kayo's suit were still offline, despite Thunderbird Two and his brothers still broadcasting strongly.

Virgil, wearing his exosuit, was wrestling with her cockpit, wrenching it open and leaning in to presumably look at Kayo. His bulky frame – enhanced by the gear – completely hid the inside of the cockpit from view, leaving John to wait in frustration for an update.

"I'm okay," his sister said, and her image appeared alongside Virgil's as he turned his own communicator on. "I think my leg's broken, but that's the worst of it."

"I'll be the judge of that," Virgil muttered, and John had no doubt that a scanner had been deployed.

"What happened?" he asked. "Thunderbird Shadow and your suit are still offline."

"If I had to guess, I'd say it's some sort of EMP," she reported, hissing as Virgil did something off-camera. "Thunderbird Shadow's engines cut out without warning. I used the manual overrides to get her turned around and out of it, but she didn't come back online so we still crashed."

An EMP would explain it. John left Virgil and Gordon to dealing with their injured sister and started running calculations. Thunderbirds One and Shadow had gone down five hundred miles apart – at this point it was foolish to even entertain any idea other than the fact that Thunderbird One must have crashed – which gave John two points of reference for the outer edge of its range. There was no way of knowing if that was a chord or the diameter of the range, however.

"Alan," he called, turning his attention to Thunderbird Three, who was still feeding Thunderbird Five with aerial scans of the area.

"What's up, John?" his brother asked. "Any news?"

"We've found Kayo," he told him. "She's okay, but Thunderbird Shadow crashed. Seems like we're dealing with an EMP, so can you and EOS search for something that could be causing it?"

"F.A.B.," Alan confirmed. "But… John? If it's an EMP… how are we going to get to Scott? Thunderbird Two will crash if she tries, and eighty miles is a long way to walk."

"Let me worry about that," John told him. "You just focus on finding the source."

Once they had it, they could work out how to switch it off.

Leaving Alan and EOS to it, he returned back to the feed showing a resigned Kayo being carried by Virgil back into Thunderbird Two.

"Thunderbird Shadow is completely shot," Gordon reported, noticing him. "We're going to have to carry her back. That EMP completely fried all her systems."

"You might as well do that now," he said. "Until that EMP is dealt with, Thunderbird Two won't be able to get to Thunderbird One, and she'll need carrying back as well."

"Are you sure Scott didn't manage to do the same as Kayo and turn her around?" Virgil asked, but it was Kayo shaking her head that answered him.

"I barely got Thunderbird Shadow turned around and she's designed for those sorts of manoeuvres," she said. "Thunderbird One can't turn that fast at the speeds she was going at when the EMP hit her."

"EOS thinks she's located Thunderbird One," John added. "The scans aren't clear, but the location is plausible."

"Why don't we just fly around this thing and walk in?" Gordon asked. "It can't be that far, right?"

"At the speed Thunderbird One was going, she could be a hundred miles in," Virgil snapped. "Until that EMP is dealt with, we can't get there."

"The plausible site is eighty miles in," John clarified, mostly to cut off Gordon's brewing response. Scott was the short-tempered one, but when he was absent and probably in trouble Virgil lost a lot of his calmness. Gordon didn't always take too well to being on the receiving end of a snappy bear, transforming the usual easiness of Thunderbird Two's pilot and co-pilot into a potentially volatile mix. "Alan, EOS and I are working on the EMP; get Shadow and Kayo home."

"F.A.B.," Virgil said, with clear reluctance. "Kayo, don't move. Gordon, get Shadow ready for transport."

John left them to it, content that despite brewing tempers they'd get the job done, and turned his full attention to the scans coming in from Thunderbird Three. The Sahara was huge, and he made a mental note to get a satellite in place to monitor it in the future. Whether that required wheedling the GDF or just making his own remained to be seen. Actually, when EOS got back, he was going to set her to finding all the satellite blind spots so they could all be plugged.

John refused to find himself blind ever again.

"John?" Alan's voice was small.

"Yes, Alan?" he responded, tearing his eyes away from sand, sand and more sand to look at his youngest brother's hologram. Alan was biting his lip.

"Do you think Scott's okay?"

_If he crashed at that speed it would have been fatal_ , the cool voice in the back of his mind reminded him. John ignored it, unable to entertain the idea that his big brother might be dead even though logic dictated as such.

"Thunderbird One is equipped with fail safes and supplies," he said instead. "Scott will have done everything he could." It wasn't his best reassurance – or even one at all – but John had learnt the hard way that saying 'they'll be fine' with no evidence to support him was far worse in the long run. "Besides, it's Scott. You know what Scott's like."

That, at least, got a small smile.

"Yeah, I do," Alan said. "Scott won't give up."

"And nor will we," John assured him. "Thunderbird Two is taking Thunderbird Shadow and Kayo back home while we find this EMP generator."

"I believe we have located that," EOS cut in. "John, I am sending you the scan now."

Thunderbird One had been difficult to spot, and they still had no guarantee that the buried metal _was_ the missing craft. This… whatever it was, was not difficult to spot. A large blotch on the scan, it was easy to see why EOS suspected it, and with nothing else even remotely suspicious turning up on the scans, John was quite content to assume it was the responsible party.

"Hold your position there, Alan," he said, stripping off his baldric and heading for his exosuit. "I'm coming to join you."

"F.A.B.," came the response and then John was launching, jetting through the sky and following the readout to where the giant red rocket was firing microjets to keep itself in position. The hatch opened and he skidded in, awkwardly catching himself before he crashed into the opposing wall.

Landings were awkward.

"So, now what?" Alan asked, uncharacteristically not commenting on his lack of flying ability. "It's halfway between where Scott and Kayo got hit, and it's at least eight miles high, so how do we turn it off?"

"Drop a probe, Alan," John said, holding one out. "When we lose contact with it, we know that's the upper limit."

"That still doesn't tell us how we can turn it off," Alan pointed out, and John sighed.

"No, but once we know the extent we can look at our options."

"We have options?"

John dropped the probe out of the open hatch before closing it and accepting the data stream EOS presented him with.

"Two hundred and fifty miles," he announced when the data stopped, not bothering to respond to Alan's dubious question.

"So, what are our options?" Little brother was not so easily deterred, but there was only ever one option.

"Take us down to three hundred miles. I'll HALO drop from there and disable it."


	4. Chapter 3

"You want to do a three hundred mile HALO drop?" Alan asked, aghast. John rolled his eyes.

"That's what I said, yes."

"But that could kill you! HALO drops aren't supposed to be anywhere near that, John!"

"I know," he sighed, checking the mechanical release on his exosuit wings. "If you've got another idea, I'd love to hear it."

Silence answered and a part of John sagged. He was, as Alan had said many times, a 'console jockey'. He dealt with data and holograms, and left the actual plan-plans to the guys on the ground. While he could, of course, make plans and execute them, experience was the best teacher and even Alan was at least his peer on active participation on rescues.

"In that case-"

"How about the space elevator?" Alan interrupted, and John blinked, started.

"The space elevator?" he asked. "But Thunderbird Five can't get here; the other space station's in the way."

"Thunderbird Five can't get here under her _own_ power," Alan corrected. "But what if we used Thunderbird Three?"

His brother was staring at him in earnest, but John wasn't sure what the connection was. All the genius in the world didn't help decipher the way a teenager's mind worked, sometimes.

"What about using Thunderbird Three?" he asked, cautiously.

"Thunderbird Five can only move in linear vectors, so she can't manoeuvre around the other space station, but how about if we use Thunderbird Three to move her?" Alan explained. "With Thunderbird Five's thrusters to move, and Thunderbird Three's thrusters for manoeuvring, we can get her here and then you can take the space elevator down."

John blinked at him. He'd never considered that Thunderbird Three would be able to move Thunderbird Five, but considering some of the things the space rocket _had_ moved, it was perfectly a perfectly reasonable assumption.

"Okay," he said. It was Alan's turn to blink.

"Okay?"

"Okay. It's a good idea, Alan; we'll give it a go."

His brother's mouth slowly stretched into a grin, while his blue eyes sparked excitedly.

"F.A.B. Thunderbird Three returning to Thunderbird Five."

The red rocket rolled around, nose pointing back towards the space station, and then they were off.

"Alan, any progress on dealing with that EMP?" Gordon broke in, making contact with Thunderbird Three. "Oh, _there_ you are John. Tell us next time you plan on leaving Thunderbird Five unmanned, maybe?"

The aquanaut looked grumpy, and was clearly piloting. That meant Virgil was dealing with Kayo, still.

"Sorry," John allowed. "We've located the EMP and have a plan of action to disable it, which we'll be commencing shortly."

"How?" Virgil cut in, apparently linked in from the medical bay. "We can't get close."

"I'll drop down on it from above using the space elevator and disable it like that," John informed them.

"John, two problems. You said you can't get Thunderbird Five above the Sahara, and the space elevator will also get fried." Virgil sounded less than impressed with the plan, and John had a brief idea of just how much the bear would have torn into him if they'd gone with the HALO drop.

He resolved not to let Virgil know about that. Ever.

"Alan's creative," he responded instead. "Let EOS know once you've dropped Thunderbird Shadow back at home."

"John-" He ended the transmission, knowing he was going to get complained at later but needing to concentrate on the finer points of the plan. Using the space elevator was all well and good, but Virgil was right – it would get fried, so even if he had Alan and EOS control it from Thunderbird Five, he couldn't travel down inside it or he'd be locked in, and he didn't have the tools to manually get himself out in a hurry.

If no-one was in danger, he'd do it, but Scott had been missing for over an hour and despite his reassurances to Alan the voice of cool logic in the back of his head was reminding him that Scott had been doing Mach 15 before being hit with the EMP. John had no intentions of taking any longer than necessary. At absolute best it would be another half an hour before anyone could reach him – fifteen minutes to descend, another fifteen to turn it off and get Thunderbird Three down into the Sahara, despite his earlier declarations that Alan would _not_ be doing that – and with Thunderbird Two having to take Thunderbird Shadow back home, it would be at least another hour before their main land-based equipment was on site.

He was going to have to take a slight risk, and ride on the outside of the space elevator. Scott and Virgil had both chewed him out for doing that exact thing before, but with a brother's life potentially on the line John had no qualms about doing it again.

"We're here," Alan announced unnecessarily as Thunderbird Three once again locked into the gravity wheel. "John, set Thunderbird Five's thrusters to half power. We just need her to start moving; Thunderbird Three will do the rest."

"F.A.B." There were few occasions when John would take orders from Alan, but Alan was the better pilot and towing Thunderbird Five was going to be a difficult operation. He slipped through the airlock, not bothering to shed the exosuit when he'd be needing it again later, and engaged the thrusters.

Thunderbird Five was not like her sisters. She had powerful thrusters, mainly for use in evading meteors and other space hazards, but was not specifically designed for travelling through space. That was Thunderbird Three's job, and it was with the knowledge that he was putting his 'bird almost entirely in Alan's hands that he set the thrusters to half power and stepped back. She moved, slowly to start with as she fought with the additional weight attached to her, and then slowly increasing in speed as Thunderbird Three's boosters ignited, shifting her out of her orbit.

"Thunderbird Three has control," Alan informed him after another minute. "Cut thrusters, John." He did so, hearing his 'bird's own engines whine down into silence and finding himself in the very odd situation of his Thunderbird moving under external influence. If it was anyone other than Alan, he didn't think he'd be able to stand it – not even Scott, for all that his older brother was a brilliant pilot.

The space station that had caused all this passed by the window at a respectable distance – part of John hoped they weren't watching Thunderbird Five being towed, or pushed, as the case actually was – and then the coast of Africa was approaching, far below.

"Begin braking manoeuvres," Alan cautioned and he obeyed, watching Thunderbird Three's data out of the corner of his eye as Alan matched Thunderbird Five's breaking with his own retros, bringing the two Thunderbirds to a precise stop above the co-ordinates EOS had calculated for them.

A moment later the airlock hissed as Alan entered, EOS in hand. "Well done, Alan."

"It was nothing," his brother shrugged off, inserting EOS' drive back into the terminal. After a moment, the security camera rotated again, a ring of lights reappearing.

"John, I will control the space elevator from here," the AI said. "Control will reduce to only paying out the cable once you reach the final two hundred and fifty miles, but as that does not require any technology from the space elevator itself I will be able to lower it to the ground safely from here."

"Thank you, EOS," he said, once again checking his exosuit. While the tech itself would be useless, the suit itself would give him additional protection and John wasn't so desperate he'd launch himself from space without all the protection he could get – if only because Scott would never forgive either of them if he got hurt saving him.

"I'll scan the area again, with Thunderbird Five this time," Alan said. "If Scott's down there, I'll find him." John offered him a small smile.

"Let me know what you find," he said, heading for the airlock. "EOS, start the descent."

"The space elevator is away," she informed him. "I will hold it at ten feet until you've boarded."

"Be careful!" Alan called out as he left, clinging to the cable and waiting for EOS to continue to lower it.

Alan had relocated Thunderbird Five in a much lower orbit than usual, and as such the two craft were not actually in geostationary orbit. The vastly reduced distance of only twelve hundred miles, instead of Thunderbird Five's usual twenty two and a half thousand, meant that the drop would be much shorter, but it also meant they were on a time limit. Looking up, John could see Thunderbird Three's boosters firing, Alan and EOS having calculated the exact force she needed to exert on Thunderbird Five to keep her temporarily stationary, but Thunderbird Three only had so much fuel, and there was a much higher traffic level in Low Orbit.

As soon as John was on the ground, they would need to at the least allow Thunderbird Five to orbit, and preferably pull her back to her usual altitude, otherwise they risked a collision with another satellite.

He was quite frankly amazed that no-one was calling him and Alan out on their dangerous relocation, but John wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

His communicator beeped, and he answered to see a very grumpy Virgil glowering at him.

"You had better not be doing what I think you are," he threatened, and John raised an eyebrow at his younger brother.

"How's Kayo?" he asked, instead of bothering to respond. They both knew what he was doing.

"She'll be fine," Virgil assured him, although his frustration hadn't abated a bit. "Some bruises and a broken leg, but all in all it could have been a lot worse. Thunderbird Two is refuelled and heading back towards the Sahara now. Gordon and I will be there in an hour."

"Good to know," John said. "I'll be at the EMP generator in less than fifteen minutes. With any luck by the time you arrive I'll have it disabled. Now that Thunderbird Five is overhead, Alan and EOS are working to get Scott's exact position; they'll let you know when they find him."

" _How_ did you get Thunderbird Five overhead?" Virgil asked suspiciously. "You said it wasn't possible."

John was saved from explaining his Thunderbird's new location by an incoming call from Alan.

"I've got him!"

"You've got eyes on Scott?" Gordon cut in. "Where?"

"Well, technically I've got eyes on Thunderbird One," Alan amended. "But there's a single life sign from inside the cockpit and there's no sign of anyone leaving her, so that has to be Scott."

The cool voice of logic in the back of John's head finally stopped its mantra that there was no way Scott could have survived.

"What's Thunderbird One's condition?" Virgil asked.

"Looks like a wing broke off on landing," Alan reported. "The other is fully extended but seems to be still attached. She's a bit banged up, but apart from the wing she looks like she's all in one piece."

"Wait," Gordon interrupted. "Her wings are extended? But wasn't she doing Mach 15?"

"Thunderbird One has a manual override on the wings," Alan reminded them. "Scott must have tried to use them to slow down. That mea-"

John didn't get to hear what that meant, as a tangible shudder ran through the space elevator, and then both his exosuit and space suit.

Two hundred and fifty miles to go, and the failsafes built into the space elevator in case something went wrong on Thunderbird Five's end, or with the cable itself, were no longer operational.

Still, he had evidence to prove that Scott was still alive. That was something to hold onto as he descended closer and closer to the sands below.

* * *

When John's data all cut off, leaving him and EOS with nothing except a high resolution camera aimed directly at the top of the space elevator by which to keep an eye on his big brother, reality hit Alan.

It had been easy to supress until then, with John there and grounding him even though they were looking for Scott, but now he was the only Tracy in space – EOS, family as she was, didn't have a warm body and therefore didn't count – and with only two of his older brothers in contact, reality came crashing down.

Scott was missing. Thunderbird One had been hit with an EMP while travelling at Mach 15 and had crashed. Alan had seen ugly scenes of plane crashes from much lower speeds, and the sight of his eldest brother's Thunderbird with a wing sheared off did nothing to quell the rising horror. Even at her low altitude, Thunderbird Five couldn't get any information about the life sign other than the fact that it existed. All Alan could do was watch the red heart symbol and pray that it stayed there until John disabled the EMP generator and his brothers could reach him.

"Records show that Scott Tracy is resilient," EOS said suddenly, and Alan spared her a grateful glance. The AI was still learning human emotions, but he knew her well enough to know that she was attempting to reassure him.

It helped. A little.

"How's the space elevator doing?" he asked, and EOS' rings flashed white.

"John will be in contact with the ground in approximately two minutes and twenty five point three seconds," she informed him. "We will need to relocate Thunderbird Five away from this position within nine point five four six minutes."

"Is something coming?" Alan had hoped they'd be able to remain above the desert for longer, at least until his brothers were with Scott.

"Yes, a satellite will be in this location in eleven point three minutes and I calculate it will take Thunderbirds Three and Five one point seven minutes to clear the collision zone," EOS informed him. "That will also allow Thunderbird Three to conserve enough fuel to return Thunderbird Five to geostationary orbit, land in the Sahara to collect John after he has succeeded in disarming the EMP generator, relaunch to arrive at Thunderbird One's current location, and then return to Tracy Island."

Alan hadn't actually given a thought to how John was going to get out of the desert. With his communicator now dead, and the space elevator needing retraction, someone was going to have to do it, and Thunderbird Two had to get straight to Scott because that was where their equipment was. With Thunderbird Shadow also out of commission, that left just Thunderbird Three, and a glance at her fuel reserves warned him that it was going to be tight.

But Alan couldn't just leave John there. With his suit also fried, that meant he had no thermal regulation and he hadn't taken any water with him. If John had a plan, he hadn't shared it with Alan, and no matter how much of a genius John was, Alan wasn't about to trust that he'd _had_ one. Scott's crash was messing all of them up, even the supposedly unshakable space monitor.


	5. Chapter 4

John's knees jarred when he made the jump from the top of the space elevator to the hot sands below. In front of him, the large monstrosity of an EMP generator loomed and he stumbled across to it, running his eyes over the control panel. No Thunderbird Five, no EOS. No communications at all. It was just John and the EMP generator, alone for over a hundred miles in each direction. By the time Thunderbird Two returned, he had to have it disabled, otherwise their third and final Thunderbird designed for atmospheric flight would join her sisters in the sand.

No pressure.

The inelegant solution would be to smash it, but it was huge, towering far above him, and John didn't have the strength nor the tools to break the entire thing. Gritting his teeth, and wishing he had gecko gloves, he started to climb.

Behind him, the space elevator retracted, travelling at a much faster speed than it had dropped him. Thunderbirds Five and Three must have been out of time; he'd been hoping the elevator would have been able to stay until he'd dealt with the generator, but apparently not.

He was going to need retrieving as well, but with no working communications he couldn't contact his brothers to organise that; he'd just have to trust that they wouldn't forget about him with the overriding priority of Scott in the fore of their minds. At the very least, EOS shouldn't forget about him.

But no-one was going to be retrieving him until the EMP was gone. Armed with a selection of short-circuited tools and his own brain, John reached the control panel, which glared at him tauntingly.

 _You can't stop me_ , it jeered. _You'll fail and die and with no-one to reach Scott, he'll die, too. Thunderbird Two will crash, and then Alan'll be the only one left. International Rescue is finished_.

Unfortunately for the control panel, John had long since learnt to work through doubts, facing down the odds over and over again because if there was one thing he loved more than space, it was his _family_ , and he wasn't going to let them down. Not now, not _ever._

They didn't call him a genius for nothing. A selection of short-circuited tools and his brain was all John needed to break it.

And time. With no gear, John didn't know how long it took before the thing gave a pathetic whine and powered off. Just to be sure, he awkwardly scaled the entire thing, watching for fail safes and backups, breaking anything that looked remotely like it could be used to repower the EMP. Only once he was certain the machine couldn't possibly restart did he back away from it.

Job done. Thunderbird Two could reach Scott now.

He flopped down onto the sands, letting gravity have its way because that was less effort than fighting it. They were hot, even through his uniform – his short-circuited, no longer temperature-controlled uniform – and John belatedly realised he didn't have any water with him.

Well, nothing to do now except stare at the sky and wait to be retrieved.

His retrieval was nothing like he'd anticipated. He'd thought Thunderbird Two would fly overhead, pausing just long enough to collect him, before they carried on towards Thunderbird One and Scott.

The sight of a giant red rocket landing in the Sahara despite her pilot being told numerous times that he was going nowhere except _home_ was a surprise, although given the situation, John couldn't scold Alan too much.

"Drink," his little brother ordered the moment he succeeded in clambering into the cockpit, shedding the dead exosuit and his sand-encrusted helmet. He watched Alan climb around his cockpit, fastening the discarded gear and handing him his spare helmet from Thunderbird Five as he emptied a water bottle. "Strap in, we're going to get Scott."

"What about Thunderbird Two?" John asked, obeying.

"Thunderbird Two is still thirty two minutes away from Thunderbird One's location," EOS informed him coolly. "Thunderbird Three will make the journey from your current location in four point eight minutes."

"So we're going on ahead," Alan said, firing Thunderbird Three's retros to get them back into the sky. "Hold on, this might get bumpy."

 _Bumpy_ was one way of putting it. Thunderbird Three was most definitely not suited to flying so close to the surface of the Earth, and John watched as his youngest brother wrestled with the controls, keeping her barely on course until they reached EOS's co-ordinates for Thunderbird One.

The expulsion of the Vernier jets blew away the light covering of sand as they passed overhead, revealing the damaged Thunderbird in all her glory.

"She's belly down," he observed, frowning. That made things more awkward – with both the pilot exit and the cargo doors buried, access would have to be done by the dorsal hatch. More clambering, wonderful.

Alan set them down alongside, and John immediately disembarked, trawling through the sand to the other Thunderbird. Her hull was scorching hot to the touch, even through his uniform, and he grimaced as he clambered up, using dents as hand and foot holds until he reached the dorsal hatch.

It was jammed shut because of course it was.

Behind him came a _clunk, clunk_ , and he turned back to see Alan using his magnets to clamber the hull, a bag over his shoulder.

"Here," the blond said, nudging him out of the way. "I'll cut the hatch." In his hands was his hand-laser, usually referred to by the teenager as a tin opener. He wasn't calling it that this time, clearly as aware as John that it was one of their own ships they were slicing open.

As soon as the dorsal hatch surrendered, John was through, dropping down into the confines of Thunderbird One. He was dismayed to find that the air inside the ship was just as hot as outside, if not more so – clearly the EMP had knocked all of Thunderbird One's temperature controls out, leaving the metal hull to conduct and amplify the unforgiving heat of the desert even inside. It was also pitch black; even the emergency lighting had fallen victim to the EMP.

John fumbled with glowsticks, snapping them and illuminating the interior of the Thunderbird in a sickly green glow. That observation, however, paled against the unmoving form slumped underneath the pilot seat, face down.

"Scott!" he exclaimed, picking his way forward and crouching on the broken glass that had once been the viewing window-come-pilot access. His brother didn't react, and with a sinking feeling he realised that the visor of the helmet had broken. Blood had congealed on Scott's face, the source unidentifiable from John's angle, but more concerning was the sand invading through the broken window and helmet, peppering Scott's lips and plastered to his face.

Scott's eyes were closed.

"John?" Alan dropped in behind him, and made a noise of shocked distress. "Scott?"

"Did you bring a medical scanner from Thunderbird Three?" John asked, not daring to take his eyes off his fallen brother. One appeared in his view, the gloved hand that held it not quite steady, and he accepted it, immediately setting it to assess Scott for injuries. "Find out how far out Thunderbird Two is."

He tuned Alan out as the teenager started talking into his comm, glaring at the scanner and willing it to work faster. Out of all of them, he had the least medical training – there was less of a need for it when he so rarely took part in rescues – but it was clear even to him that Scott likely had a concussion, and considering how hot it was inside Thunderbird One, they'd be lucky if they only had to worry about heat exhaustion.

Even heat exhaustion would be bad enough, but before John could touch him he had to make sure there were no other injuries – especially internal ones – that could be worsened by movement.

While he waited for it to finish, he glanced up at the seat above them. The restraints should have prevented Scott from falling out of his seat, even if he'd fallen unconscious, but they were lifted. That was odd, unless…

"Scott?" he called again, resting a hand lightly on his brother's left shoulder as the medical scan showed up nothing majorly wrong with it – some nasty bruising was in Scott's future, if it wasn't already starting, but that was all. There was still no answer.

"They're ten minutes out," Alan reported, coming up next to him and crouching down in the broken glass. "How is he?"

"Scan's still working," John shrugged, watching the holographic copy of his prone brother appear piece by piece above him, red warning lights flashing up near the right shoulder. Oranges and yellows dotted the rest of his body; to John's relief, his bleeding head was only flagged yellow – whatever impact it had taken had obviously been mostly absorbed by the broken helmet. Heart rate was also flagged up as too slow, while his body temperature declared one oh four and still rising.

"I'll get a blanket," Alan said, standing back up and heading for one of the many lockers that decorated Thunderbird One's interior. John heard the hiss of the manual release and then Alan was back, laying the blanket down next to their brother.

"Good thinking," John praised, zooming in on the results of the shoulder and wincing. Right, that made things a little more complicated, but they needed Scott on his back to best fight the heat exhaustion. It was only the one issue, however, and John sent a quick prayer of thanks to their Mom for Scott's comparative lack of injury before directing Alan to Scott's legs. "Roll him on three. One… two… three!"

Scott wasn't the lightest fairy in the world, and John was hyper aware of the broken collarbone as he guided his brother's torso over, keeping an eye on the suit for any sign that the bone had broken the skin.

There was a quiet groan as they got him settled on the blanket, John carefully detaching the remains of the helmet and clearing broken fragments away from his face.

"Scott?" he tried again, lightly brushing the sand away from where sweat had stuck it to his brother's face. Eyelids fluttered, but didn't open. "Alan, we have to get his temperature down."

"Already on it." A cutter was pressed into his hands. "Get as much of his uniform off as you can while I get the cool packs working." John didn't stop to think, the powerful tool sheering through the baldric at the shoulder, hip and thigh to remove the grey material and reveal the full extent of the blue flight suit Scott wore.

Considering the relative minority of Scott's injuries, John was very grateful to that flight suit. However, it had done its job, and he didn't hesitate to pull the zipper down and re-engage the cutter to lop parts of the uniform off. It was sticky with sweat, despite Brains designing it to be anti-sweat, and John sacrificed a moment to remove his own gloves from his dead suit. Scott was cool and clammy to the touch, but it was easier to feel the rise and fall of his chest which, even if it was rather slow, reassured them that he was still with them.

John had every intention of making sure he didn't leave them.


	6. Chapter 5

Alan reached across him to place the first cool pack on Scott's forehead, and they were rewarded with another groan and flutter of eyelashes.

"Scott?" John tried again, aware of Alan echoing the name. "Are you with us?"

His lips moved slowly, but no sound came out.

"Come on, Scott," Alan pleaded, placing a second pack by his neck. Whether it was Alan's words or the pack, John wasn't sure, but blue eyes opened a crack.

Scott didn't look at either of them; his eyes were so clouded and unlike their usual vibrant hue that John suspected he was barely awake, and probably entirely unaware of his surroundings. Still, it was a sign of life, and he renewed his attempts to remove as much of Scott's uniform as possible.

"No, no, Scott!" He paused and looked back up at Alan, who had paused in packing a cool pack under Scott's left armpit to pat his brother's face lightly. "Stay awake!"

Scott rolled his head away from the stimulation, his groan sounding more like a moan of protest than an unconscious sound, and John abandoned the half-cut uniform at the hip to join Alan.

"Scott?" he called, cupping his brother's face in his hands and wincing at the clammy skin. "Can you hear me?" He turned to Alan briefly. "Keep going with the packs." The teenager nodded, his face troubled, and John saw him carefully place one over the broken collarbone before returning his attention to Scott, who was still making small, half-conscious noises of the protesting variety and closing his eyes again. "No you don't, Scott. Keep those eyes open." It took a couple more pats, but Scott responded, opening his eyes again. They were slightly clearer, a hopeful sign that awareness was returning to him, and John took the chance to accept a bottle of clean water from Alan and gently wash the worst of the blood from his face, looking for the source.

That got more of a reaction from Scott, who rolled his head into the cool stream. John caught his chin and kept him still before he put his mouth and nose into the water.

"Easy, Scott," he soothed, finding a nasty cut above his left eye and carefully bathing it with water to wash out any foreign objects.

"-n." Scott's next moan almost sounded like an attempt at speech, but for all his multilingual fluency, John couldn't decipher it. That wasn't particularly unusual with semi-conscious individuals – John had heard Scott himself returning to consciousness with incoherent sounds over the comms before – but it gave him hope that Scott might not have been fully unconscious the entire time. After all, the raised shoulder restraints implied that Scott had got himself out of his chair. Whether that was before or after the head injury was another matter entirely, but that was a consideration for later.

At some point Alan had reclaimed the cutting tool and was continuing the task of stripping off the flight suit, leaving Scott in just his underwear and revealing a multitude of bruises. John checked the scan's results again, just to double check that no internal injuries had been flagged up. They hadn't, but Scott was still going to be sore for some time until he healed.

It was still too hot inside Thunderbird One, but they had nowhere better to move to and John watched anxiously as the medical scanner recorded Scott's temperature inch up to one oh five. The cooling packs were slowing the increase, but doing little to stop it. They did, at least, seem to be helping Scott remain semi-conscious as he made another nonsensical noise.

"We'll have you out of here soon," John reassured him, placing some gauze over the gash and securing it in place with medical tape. They could do a better job later, but it would at least keep it clean until Thunderbird Two arrived. "Alan, how far out are they?"

A roar of engines answered him before Alan could, and Virgil appeared over the red comm.

"We're coming in to land now; how is he?"

"Broken collarbone, minor head injury and a temperature of one oh five," John reported. "He's semi-conscious but I don't know if he's aware of his surroundings or just responding to the stimulus of the cooling packs. We can't cool him down, though; Thunderbird One's temperature regulator is offline and it's baking hot in here."

"Can he be moved?" Thunderbird One juddered slightly as Thunderbird Two landed beside her, and Virgil's hologram went through the motions of leaving his seat and heading for the module.

"We'll need a stretcher," John sighed. "I don't think his shoulder should be moved more than necessary, but I don't know how you'll get back out of the dorsal hatch with a stretcher."

"Thunderbird One's already unable to fly, more damage won't make a difference," Virgil pointed out. The idea of cutting up one of their Thunderbirds made John wince, but Virgil was right – Thunderbird One was already disabled, and they had to get Scott out as soon as they could. "Scans put Alan and two other life signs in the cockpit?"

"We're under the pilot seat," John confirmed.

" _Under_ it?" Footsteps echoed through the hull of Thunderbird One as someone – presumably Virgil – walked over the top.

"It looks like Scott tried to get out," John explained. "The harness is up and we found him on the floor."

There was a familiar grumble at that as Virgil presumably once again had some choice words to mutter about idiotic brothers making themselves worse under his breath. "Okay, stay where you are. I'm cutting a way in."

The high-pitched whine of a laser started up as the communication dropped, and John glanced back to see a glowing red spot several paces back at the side of the fuselage. Scott made another noise of distress as metal clanged down and sunlight streamed in through the new hole in Thunderbird One, silhouetting Virgil and Gordon's outlines before the last brothers made their way inside. Gordon was towing the stretcher, but hung back as Virgil nudged Alan out of the way and joined John by Scott's head.

"Scott, can you hear me?" he asked, leaning over to plant himself in front of hazed blue eyes and extracting a penlight from his toolbelt, which he shined into them. Scott sluggishly attempted to turn his head away, making more noises of complaint, but Virgil cupped his chin and held him still. His pupil constricted slowly, confirming John's fears of a concussion, and Virgil put the penlight away again. "Scott?"

"Vrrr."

"Okay, let's get you out of this heat," Virgil decided. "Gordon, get that stretcher over here." Knowing that his brothers had far better experience dealing with extraction, John backed off and let his aquanaut brother take his place. He found Alan and watched from beside his youngest brother as Virgil manipulated Scott's right arm into a sling before gently sliding their eldest brother onto the hover stretcher Gordon had laid down. "John, Alan, go on ahead. There isn't room for four of us to move the stretcher in here."

Alan hesitated, but it was true that there was very little room to manoeuvre inside Thunderbird One, and a single nudge from John had him scrambling out of the hole in her side. Thunderbird Two was settled only a few feet away, front hatch lowered, and they headed for it, waiting in the shade beneath the green 'bird for Virgil and Gordon to emerge with Scott's stretcher.

It was a long half minute before the bright green of Virgil's baldric emerged into the blazing sunlight, and John noticed that a foil blanket had been loosely draped over the top of Scott, presumably to protect him from the sun as they hurried the short distance to the platform. All five of them fit on, although it was a tight squeeze with the stretcher, and John couldn't help the sigh of relief as they entered the blissfully cool cockpit of a Thunderbird with working aircon.

He was once again bundled out of the way as the hoverstretcher was attached to the ports at the rear of the cockpit and the foil blanket was whisked away. Alan edged forwards next to Gordon as the aquanaut kept talking to Scott, keeping up a steady stream of chatter even as he replaced the cooling packs Alan had applied with fresh ones, pausing for breath whenever Scott made a noise. Virgil had busied himself with an IV, and was setting it up in Scott's left arm. John assumed it was to rehydrate him, and came up behind Alan to look at Scott's face.

His eyes were still open, and to John's delight they were no longer staring blankly at nothing, but sluggishly attempting to look around as Gordon finished replacing the old cool packs and kept packing any exposed skin with fresh ones. After a moment they met his and stopped.

"-on?"

That could almost have been an attempt at his name – or Gordon's – and he stepped closer, Alan stumbling out of his way.

"Scott?" he asked again, resting his hand lightly on what little exposed skin he could reach between cool packs on his brother's shoulder. Scott blinked at him, and John could see his eyes clearing. A quick glance at the medical scanner's data told him that his temperature was finally starting to fall.

"Whyrrere?" Scott blinked again, and then to John's delight attempted to sit up, left hand raising to his head. Virgil was quick to put a stop to the movement, a large hand gently on his chest too difficult for their weakened brother to fight.

"Are you back with us, Scott?" their younger brother asked, guiding his arm back down. "Don't move." John found himself the target of brown eyes. "Don't let him." He nodded in understanding, returning his attention to Scott as the man groaned.

"W'appened?"

"What do you remember?" John asked, as Virgil busied himself with more medical equipment.

"One sh'down," Scott slurred, blue eyes fixed firmly on John. The lack of any further attempts to move concerned him – it was well known that to keep an injured Scott in one place, restraints were often required. "N'repon'ing. Gonna crssh."

"You did crash," John confirmed, letting Gordon move him to the side so he could clean and redress the head wound, to Scott's disgruntlement. "How are you feeling?"

Scott frowned, closing his eyes briefly, and Virgil nudged him. "No sleeping, Scott."

"N'sleeping," Scott protested, opening his eyes again. "Hot. Cold."

"That's the heat exhaustion," Virgil told him. "We're bringing your temperature down. Once it's below a hundred I'll give you something for the pain."

"Wha' pain?" Scott groaned, and despite the situation they all managed to find a small smile. Typical Scott. "M'n'urting."

"Sure you're not," Virgil humoured him. "Well, as you're 'fine', I'll leave you in John's hands while I get us ready to go home. Come on, Gordon. You, too, Alan."

"'brrd One?" Scott asked suddenly, turning his head to watch them head back to the hatch and dislodging the cooling pack on his forehead. John retrieved it and held it in position for him.

"They'll get her home," he promised. "Relax, Scott. We've got you."

Scott looked back at him, brow furrowed underneath the cooling pack. Sensing that his big brother was about to try and get up again, John rested his palm on his chest in a mimicry of Virgil's earlier action. He wasn't as strong as his younger brother, but with heat exhaustion and pain working against him, Scott was still unable to fight him and surrendered with a dark look.

"Whyyre you here?" he asked, and John shook his head fondly.

"Rescuing my brother," he said, and Scott fixed him with a Look, glancing up meaningfully. "Thunderbird Five lost your signal," he admitted. "I was more use down here."

"And we _will_ be having a discussion about your travel arrangements," Virgil cut in, reappearing into the cockpit. "Sit down and strap in while I get us in the air." John took one look at his older brother and fastened the straps to keep him from moving around before obeying, to Scott's disgruntlement.

"My brrd?"

"We're not leaving your girl behind, don't worry," Virgil assured him. "She's a bit battered, but nothing Brains can't handle once we get her home."

John didn't think Brains was going to be particularly pleased about constructing an entirely new sweep wing, especially not on top of replacing at least half the external panels and the entire electronics system, but said nothing. He was well aware that he was in for more than one lecture about the crippled space elevator, and with Thunderbird Shadow also in need of major repairs, keeping Brains sweet was going to be all but impossible.


	7. Chapter 6

Scott didn't seem particularly mollified by the answer, but Thunderbird Two roared into life beneath them, rising to hover above her sister and remaining there for several minutes. John took the opportunity to grab a blanket from one of the lockers; the cockpit's air conditioning was on full blast for Scott's benefit, but with his suit's thermal regulator out of action – alongside all its other electronics – John was starting to feel the chill. Suspicious blue eyes watched him but John didn't acknowledge them, unwilling to give Scott any ammunition.

The hatch lowered and then raised again, bearing Gordon, and with a greeting to Scott the aquanaut settled in the co-pilot chair.

"Thunderbird One is secure and we're ready to go," he reported and Thunderbird Two slowly raised further into the air under Virgil's careful touch.

"Where's Alan?" Scott asked, craning his head to look for their youngest brother. John slid out of his seat to replace the dislodged cool pack yet again. He didn't bother to answer, though, as the unmistakable roar of Thunderbird Three launching filled the air. Scott looked taken aback. "Thunderbird Three?"

"Took four Thunderbirds to save you, bro," Gordon informed him. "So be a good rescuee and stay put, okay?"

"Four?" Scott frowned, and John could see that he was struggling to work it out. A glance up at the scanner said his temperature was down to one oh one, almost down to acceptable parameters, but still too high for him to be thinking clearly. "Explain." Not too high for him to be demanding, but that came with coherency when it came to Scott. "What happened?"

That much, John could do.

"Thunderbird One got hit by an EMP, which removed both her and you from Thunderbird Five's sensors," he started, watching Scott's eyes widen. "The EMP has now been neutralised, and Lady Penelope is hunting down the source," he assured him.

"Kayo?"

Ah. John had been hoping to keep that one quiet for at least a little longer, but of course Scott was wondering why Kayo wasn't also on the case as their head of security.

"Thunderbird Shadow also ran foul of the EMP," he admitted. "Kayo is fine," he added, steamrollering over the sudden look of panic on Scott's face. "A broken leg, but nothing more."

" _You_ are far worse off," Virgil added in suddenly. "It's a clean break and she's already trying to escape from Grandma."

"With you invisible to Thunderbird Five, Thunderbird Three did a flyby to locate the EMP, and then I dropped down to disable it so Thunderbird Two could get to you," John continued, summarising and hoping that Scott wouldn't start asking questions he didn't want to answer. His older brother frowned, and John internally cringed.

"How badss Thunderbird One?" he asked, and John couldn't hide the wince, which blue eyes immediately focused on. "John?"

"Nothing that can't be fixed," he hedged, and Scott scowled at him.

"Brains can rebuild all of them from scrrch," he muttered, almost without slurring anything to John's relief. "That doesn't mean anything."

"That's true," John admitted. "A few damaged panels, and the electronics will all need replacing. But she protected _you_ and that's what's important." The cool pack in his hand was getting warm, likely because he had to keep holding it in place as Scott dislodged it, and John decided to put it to one side and start up a fresh one.

Scott hissed as it was applied to his forehead, closing his eyes briefly until John tapped him on the cheek.

"No sleeping," he said. "You've got a head injury."

His brother groaned loudly, not that John couldn't sympathise. Concussions were a common risk and they all knew the joy of being regularly woken for a check all through the night. Grandma and Virgil were thorough.

"What's his temperature, John?" Virgil asked, and John checked the readout again.

"One hundred point two." Finally, they were out of fever territory. Virgil made a thoughtful noise.

"Keep the cool packs, but you can give him some pain relief now; I set out the painkiller dose in the cabinet before we took off," he instructed. "See if he can drink some water, too."

John found the loaded needle with ease, and ignored Scott's protests that he wasn't in pain as the contents were injected into his arm. Scott could hide it as much as he wanted, but beneath the packs his skin was beginning to blossom into several bright bruises, and a broken collarbone would always be painful.

Water was also easily obtained, straight out of the fridge. Helping Scott up into a reclining position so that he could safely drink was more of a challenge than it should have been – Scott was a notoriously bad patient, and at the first shot at freedom he was eager to sit up. Several cooling packs were dislodged in his attempt, and John dropped the bottle in favour of catching Scott as his injuries caught up with him and he faltered.

Virgil made a noise of displeasure, and Gordon promptly _not-me_ 'd mopping up the mess, although he did at least retrieve a second bottle to pass to John rather than face the inevitability of the sequence of events repeating themselves as soon as John released their frustrated big brother.

"Small sips," the aquanaut reminded them, fussing with the sling to check it hadn't been dislodged in the movement. John nodded and Scott rolled his eyes, attempting to claim the bottle for himself with his free arm.

"Stop it," John snapped, unable to capture the flailing arm without once again letting go of the bottle. Thankfully, Gordon did the job for him, catching hold of Scott's wrist and forcing it back down to his side. John nodded his thanks before lifting the bottle neck to Scott's lips. Despite protests, big brother was obviously grateful for the drink and with little more than a glower at them accepted the drops John carefully tilted into his mouth.

Gordon replaced the dislodged packs as best he could while Scott drank, and much to John's relief mopped up the spilled water despite his earlier claim that he wouldn't. Virgil probably had something to do with that – no words were exchanged, but in order to hold Scott in his reclining position John had his back to the pilot's seat, and the two brothers didn't always need words to communicate.

With Scott not fighting him – temporarily, at least – and instead reluctantly slumped against his torso, John could feel him starting to shiver from the cooling attempts. The scanner claimed that his temperature was still the wrong side of one hundred, and indeed seemed to have reached a point where it would rather hold steady than continue to lower. He reported as much to Virgil, who grumbled.

"There's not much more we can do with what we've got onboard Thunderbird Two," he said. "If it's not going down any more, try to keep it steady until we get back to Tracy Island. Is he shivering?"

" _He_ is right here," Scott grumbled, shifting. John handed the water bottle to Gordon and put a hand on his chest to keep him still.

"Yes," he answered, ignoring blue eyes looking at him in what could have been a childish betrayal.

"Okay. Gordon, give him a half dose of muscle relaxant," Virgil ordered, and the aquanaut scurried off to the medicine cabinet, returning with another needle which Scott scowled at and made a half-hearted attempt to evade. Neither John nor Gordon had any intention of letting him, holding him still until the small amount of liquid was drained from the syringe.

John was unprepared for Scott's head to rest back on his arm, an almost surrender compared to his prior attempts to escape, but when his eyes started to drift closed, he tapped his cheek again. He got a disgruntled groan in response, and Gordon pressed the neck of the bottle to Scott's lips again.

"See if you can drink some more, bro," he encouraged. Scott grumbled but accepted more of the water as John once again held the cool pack to his forehead. "There we go. We'll have you all cooled down soon."

To John, it felt like a long flight home. Scott did little to help, with alternating sleep and escape attempts, but it was also a simple fact that John simply wasn't used to the homeward journeys. Up on Thunderbird Five, once the rescue was over it was on to the next distress call, or sleep if he was tired and lucky. The sometimes hour or more journey home was a moot point when he lived in this Thunderbird, and it was only fifteen minutes if he decided to return to Tracy Island himself. He was also getting quite cold from the constant air conditioning and constant replacing of Scott's cool packs, and the blanket he'd swiped early on in the journey was beginning to not be enough to keep him warm – something sharp amber eyes had spotted.

He'd glared Gordon into silence before he alerted Virgil or brought it to Scott's attention. They lived on a tropical island – warming up wouldn't be an issue once they arrived. Keeping Scott's temperature down would be more of a challenge. With the relaxant putting a stop to the shivering, he had finally crept below the hundred mark, but none of them would be happy until he was back to his normal temperature and chained to the medical bay.

Whether or not they would be literal chains or just the aggressive guard dog behaviour of the family medics on the prowl would remain to be seen.

"We're coming up on Tracy Island," Virgil informed them. "Strap in for landing." Scott didn't protest as John lowered him back down to lie flat and Gordon secured the straps over him, clearly as eager to get home as the rest of them, although John knew he was going to kick up a fuss when it came to being carried out of the Thunderbird. John returned to his seat, pulling the blanket around him closer, but Gordon headed for the hatch.

Of course, Thunderbird Two couldn't land while Thunderbird One was dangling beneath her. The cliff face loomed in front of them, palm trees already leaning back, and as soon as Virgil had her hovering, Gordon let himself down to unhook the crippled 'bird. With no sign of Thunderbird Shadow, John assumed Brains had somehow managed to get her inside the hangar already. Thunderbird Two's hangar wasn't designed to also house two of her sisters (Thunderbird Four notwithstanding), but it was large enough to take Thunderbirds One and Shadow as well, just about.

It was going to be tight.

Thunderbird One was, however, forgotten for the moment in favour of getting her pilot inside. It took very little time before Thunderbird Two was moving again, coming in for a VTOL landing just outside the hangar and trundling inside. Thunderbird Shadow was visible in the corner, on a cradle of spare pods with MAX whirring around her.

True to form, Scott was disgruntled – to put it mildly – when instead of releasing the straps to let him stand on his own two feet, Gordon simply engaged the hoverjets and detached the stretcher from the wall of the cockpit.

"I can walk!" he protested, writhing against the straps keeping him in place.

"I don't care," Virgil said firmly. John tried to stand up unobtrusively, staying out of the way of his younger brothers so they could focus on Scott, but the blanket rustled, betraying his movement, and Virgil turned sharply. "I haven't forgotten about you, either." Before John could say anything, his collar was gripped firmly by a large hand. "Gordon, you've got Scott."

"F.A.B," the blond acknowledged, and John watched as he guided the stretcher to the hatch and his two brothers descended before it was their turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for today's updates! We're now all caught up on the cross-posting, so yay :D
> 
> Those of you who follow me on tumblr might be aware that I've just returned to uni to start a new degree - preparation for that was a large reason for the lack of fics, but as I'm doing a Master's degree my studies are going to be rather intensive so I can't promise any regularity with updates for any of my fics for the time being (I have some unposted backlog but I'm trying to space it so we have slow updates for a while rather than many now then none for a year!). That said, I'm still around, my tumblr is still open and I'm always up for a chat.

**Author's Note:**

> TAG did a good job remaking the classic TB2 crash from Terror In New York City, but they tragically missed TB1′s own crash from The Uninvited… I couldn't let that stand. I haven't finished writing this fic yet, so updates will likely be sporadic as I'm also working on several other TAG works.
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> Tsari


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